


The Somnambulist

by ArgentNoelle



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Adult Ciel Phantomhive, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Romance, Angst and Tragedy, Assassin AU, BAMF Ciel Phantomhive, Caring Sebastian, Character Death, Ciel Phantomhive is Annoyed, Comfort/Angst, Disguise, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Horror, Human Sebastian Michaelis, M/M, Multi, Murder, Mystery, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Torture, Psychological Horror, Revenge, fusion with the Cabinet of Dr Caligari
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:48:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27265966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentNoelle/pseuds/ArgentNoelle
Summary: Ten years after being kidnapped, the Phantomhive twins return to the town where they were born: but the younger brother is a killer, and the elder is in a trancelike sleep from which he never wakes. [fusion with the movie "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari"]
Relationships: Sebastian Michaelis/Ciel Phantomhive
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	The Somnambulist

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the Darker Oneshots, Halloween 2020 challenge hosted by Seth's Kiss and NekoPantera. Scroll to end of story for list of participating authors :)
> 
> WARNINGS: reference to past rape/torture, betrayal, manipulation, somewhat explicit *consensual* sexual content, injury, murder, character death
> 
> Primary Ship: sebaciel (Ciel is 20) (see end of story for further ship info + spoilers)

The town looks no different now than it had then: that day when the twins had left it some ten years before. The buildings loom like crooked teeth under the tongue of the mountain, and along the winding path through which the caravan has traveled, the petrified forest, contorted and dead, tilts its broken fingers down. The way through the fen runs at a steep tilt upward, opening onto a gaping view of the town grasped in stone arms, the heights on either side of their small pass blocking all travel except for these very few weeks at the midpoint of summer. Without his leave, Smile shivers, and his steps slow. He feels, for a moment, as though he is teetering on a crumbling peak between what his life has been and the past, which comes back in vivid, nightmarish shades of blue and green and the hard sunlit yellow, all jumbled thoughtlessly together.

"Are you all right?" Sieglinde asks.

He looks up. From her perch upon her mare she's taller than he, not yet dressed in her green finery but in something more practical for traveling; her crippled feet tucked into small shoes chased with embroidery.

"Of course," Smile says flatly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Sieglinde gives him a skeptical look. "Because we're back _here_? I remember when you joined our troupe, you know."

And sometimes Smile wishes she hadn't been. Because she's all-too capable of seeing clearly, past his fronts and disguises, to the scared ten-year-old with snot running down his nose, one eye puffed and reddish with its gaze flickering, darkening day by day. He hadn't said a word then, to anyone; but had spent all his time curled up in Undertaker's rattling house on wheels, while the miles sped away behind him, each minute an agonized joy that they were further away from _that_ , and that they would never return.

Well. He's not the overly optimistic type; he leaves that to the likes of Sieglinde and Joker. It is not at all a surprise that they would be back here now; and he had not even thought of crossing Undertaker on the matter. Undertaker knew full well what it meant to come back to this place, and he had chosen to do so regardless. Smile's hands are tied with a bond stronger than any other, for no one else could be expected to have such careful interest in his brother's case, always caring for him and searching for a cure.

"I'm sure the boy remembers, mistress," Wolf says. "Doesn't mean he wants to talk about it."

"Hmph," Sieglinde says, glancing quickly to her companion, walking on her other side. "Doesn't mean he shouldn't."

"I'm right here," Smile reminds them, and then, realizing that there will be no better time to escape than the present, turns back along the line to join Freckles and Beast, who are giggling quietly to each other. Without any other outward sign, Freckles slides her hand into his, and Smile feels somehow more capable of stepping down that rocky slope into the maw of those weathered buildings, full of glass with their panes cracked and grimed with dirt; overlooked all by the fine houses on the edge of the steep overhang, airy notions with french doors and white cut-outs and verandas which seem to float above the town proper, gaining in size and stature as the group wends its way into the grassy hollow where their spectacle may be showcased to the eager crowd.

* * *

Behind heavy red curtains, Undertaker sets up the cabinet with Smile's brother inside; and when all is done, Smile creaks the leftmost door open to look at that standing figure which seems so peaceful and asleep; unmoving, unknowing. He puts one hand quickly on his brother's pale cheek and closes his own eyes so as to no longer look upon the slack face, to pretend for one moment that Ciel is awake, and that he will one day speak. "We're back," he says. His voice is choked, almost strangled; he takes a moment to compose himself, reassured by the steady sound of breathing which tells him he's not alone. "At least you won't have to know," he adds with some irony. "I can't help but imagine that somewhere in the crowd is the rest of _them_ , staring—laughing—" he stops.

Remembers the blows and the jeers and the words of false-comfort, which had been somehow the worst, for the way they took and poisoned every beautiful thing. All masked and hooded and dressed in fine cloaks, smelling of velvet, that over-soft thread he cannot even now stand. And opens his eyes at the thought, and peers with disquiet at the half-moon press of sharp nails hidden under the edge of Ciel's black collar. He tries not to imagine how many times Undertaker has been ungentle as he readies the sleeping thing for display; tries not to feel a crushing guilt for his own lack of care. But it is so very hard to spend every waking moment worrying about something that has never stirred, nor spoken except in a trance, for ten years.

* * *

This is how the act works: they scope out the town; Undertaker picks a few marks for Ciel, under mesmerism, to foretell the deaths of; and then, in the night, Smile takes his knife and ends them. Nothing drums up sales like carefully-instilled fear, and everyone wants to know when they will die.

But Elizabeth is at the fair. "Not her," Smile mouths, glaring at Undertaker, whose incessant grin is the only thing that can be seen behind his stringy grey mop of hair. Undertaker shrugs good-naturedly. "Of course not, my dear. I'm smart enough to know not to send a boy after his former fiancée."

Smile sighs, caught between annoyance (why does everyone still call me boy, he thinks; I've long since turned twenty) and relief. There isn't much he wouldn't do for Undertaker, but killing Lizzy is just about first on that list.

"How about…" Undertaker says musingly, his long-nailed hands flicking out to point into the crowd, "that fellow over there."

Smile barely spares the man a glance. He shrugs. "If he asks his fortune, sure. I've never met him before."

"There you are then," Undertaker says, with a cackle, and ducks out onto the makeshift stage, bowing at the applause.

Smile makes it a point never to pay too much attention to his victims. It wouldn't do to become attached, after all; but the man's reaction to hearing of his impending death somehow demands it.

"I see," he says mildly. "How very disconcerting." But he smiles at Ciel's staring eyes and even shakes his hand before he descends the stage.

"Hm," Smile says to himself. "Another one who doesn't believe it."

"Should I?"

Smile turns, startled. The mark has somehow sneaked up behind him in less time than is probable, given how packed the crowd is; he must move like a fish through water. His deep reddish eyes seem to sparkle with amusement.

"Come on, Sebastian," a strident voice announces, and a woman dressed to the nines pushes through and snakes a possessive arm through his (never mind he is almost a decade younger). "Don't bother the carnival folk. Sorry miss," she says, casting a dismissive glance at Smile, and drags the mark away before anything more can be said.

_That's my aunt_ , Smile thinks. Dressed in red, of course—what else? And… obviously this "Sebastian" is her latest gentleman friend. She hasn't recognized him. Of course not; why would she? It's been ten years, and Smile is in one of his numerous disguises. Still, he feels wrong-footed. He stares out after them, those two wine-dark figures tracing their way up the hill through the cacophanous space, which seems to extend even to the buildings themselves, dark-edged and jeering closer. He tightens his grip on the knife tucked in his skirts, brushing his thumb against the razor-sharp edge, and feels a drop of blood.

* * *

Wide windows, with tall drapes on either side. From the top of the crumbling cliff, on those few feet between the edge of this decorated space and a tumble into a broken neck, Smile stands, dressed in the dark suit of a gentleman. Inside the room, the distant glow of moonlight has cast sharp-edged shadows around the bed where lately his aunt and Sebastian have stayed. But she has packed up her things, now, and gone off to her own rooms—and Smile knows she won't be back; she does like her boundaries. And there is Sebastian, in the sudden dark; the profile of his face turned upward with the black hair over it like liquid shadows, rising and falling in sleep, with all the white semblance of sheets about him, like shrouds. Smile turns, careful not to knock a careless pebble down and wake the sleeper; and with the tip of his knife pries open the window-latch. It swings free, open with the shock of breeze, and for a moment he stands unable to move, one hand outstretched: remembering, this is how it had been _that night_ : awakening from sleep to a dark shadow floating from without the room, cloaks and pointed knives. If only, oh, if only they had not screamed! For in flew mother and father, and those massing figures which seemed to sweep in, tide-like, bringing out their blades, gutting the bodies, turning them into bodies, there, spread out upon the floor and dead, dead.

Neither of them had been quiet, then. The tears and screaming; even turning to hiccuping sobs, when they had been grabbed and taken away, down into that place carved into the mountain's edge. So far down that steep slope that there was only the glimmer of water along the bare stone and the damp, and those high, sloping windows carven into the side as though they were in the depths of a dungeon in a castle's bowels; too high to climb, though he ripped his nails trying, trying to reach the lip of that window because if only, if only he could reach it, he could escape—

But that is long ago and Smile steadies himself with one hand on the painted sill and swings inside, soundless, and pads to the bed, staring down. There is Sebastian, all unknowing, in a room that still seems to carry the faint reek of his parents blood. He raises the knife, and the moonlight catches it, flashing like a warning, and Smile blinks away the past, driving it down—

But oh, he has hesitated too long!

Sebastian's eyes have opened; red in the glancing reflection of the blade, and for a moment they fight for the knife; Smile's position above, and Sebastian's greater strength; and for one moment Smile thinks he will make it for the man's arms are straining and his breath, wild but silent, pants out while they struggle—he has made no noise. Why has he made no noise? Why would anyone, faced with a single attacker in a house where others live, fight so single-mindedly in silence?

Then Sebastian twists his arm and Smile stifles a cry at the hollow crack of his bone breaking; the knife falling from his outstretched hand. In another moment Sebastian has them flipped, has him pinned down, down among the sheets which twist their way around his legs like grasping appendages and he feels a scream rising—will he dare, though? And be taken to prison? To be hanged for attempted murder? Yet can he remain silent any longer with that knife pointed toward his throat and—

Then Smile realizes that Sebastian is not moving. Is not tearing off his clothes; is not striking him in the face, is not, is not—

Here they are. Watching one another warily for a sign.

"Well, well," Sebastian says at last, conversationally. "I did wonder if the marvellous Undertaker had something of the sort planned; but I didn't expect such a tiny assassin."

"Tiny?!" Smile's fear has been pushed aside in a sudden rush of annoyance so strong it feels almost like relief. "Is that anything to say to your intended murderer?"

Sebastian chuckles. "Now, I'm sure you're very capable, but…" the elbow that has pinned down his arms lets up and for some unfathomable reason it does not occur to Smile to press the advantage, to scratch and claw his eyes; then Sebastian's hand reaches around his wrist; his fingers meeting. "You see?" he says.

"Damn you," Smile says.

Sebastian only grins; a pleased grin, and presses forward with the knife, which nicks gently at his exposed throat, and Smile closes his mouth and watches.

"Much better," Sebastian says. He sits, trapping Smile's legs beneath him, and taps absently with the knife; tap, tap, tap… and slides it down to his collar, and then stills, watching Smile's face. "Hmm." But does nothing else. "Now, will you tell me what it is I've done to raise your ire?"

"Besides attack me?" Smile says sarcastically.

"You've no space to berate me on that account, dear one, for you attacked me first. No: I want to know a little more about this setup of yours. How these murders play out, and why it is that you take Undertaker's orders so obediently, for all you have no leash."

Reluctantly, and shaking with anger, Smile complies. "...and because of my brother, I have to do whatever he says."

"I see!" Sebastian says, delightedly. Smile rolls his eyes. Nothing else, he thinks, quite conveys the proper amount of disdain in reply to _that_.

"Well," Sebastian says. "It seems we have two options. One: I turn you in to the police, and that's the end of both your deal with Undertaker and whatever hope you still have for your brother. Two: you take me to see your brother, and I may just be able to wake him myself. And I wager it won't be so hard as you suppose."

"What?!" Smile says. "But you're not a mesmerist—you can't know—"

"I am a doctor, though," Sebastian says. "And I have to admit, I've been enthralled by your brother's unusual predicament since I first saw him, and it pleases me to show this Undertaker as a charlatan. So which will you choose?"

"The latter," Smile says. "Obviously. Now will you let me up?"

At last Sebastian moves, and Smile pokes gingerly at his broken arm. He hisses. "Some doctor," he says. "Do you take such joy in injuring all of your patients?"

"You aren't my patient, yet," Sebastian says, with that teasing, catlike grin. "Though, if you'll follow me to the kitchen," he points with the knife, "I might be able to wrap that for you."

"Bastard," Smile grumbles, sliding off of the bed and trying to gain his bearings. He cannot say he trusts Sebastian: not one bit. But, on the other hand, there's no other option for him at the moment than to go along with Sebastian's offer. And if, somehow, Sebastian is _right—_ and can cure Ciel—well. He'll have much to say to Undertaker. He'll… he'll have a future. The sudden possibility of it dizzies him; and he hardly flinches away when Sebastian puts a steadying arm about his waist. "All right?" Sebastian whispers, bending down slightly so that his breath tugs warmly at Smile's ear.

"I'd be better if you'd put that knife down," Smile says, turning his head away to hide his confusion. Again, Sebastian chuckles.

"Not a chance."

They move into the kitchen, which still seems so oddly familiar, but diminished: the last time Smile walked among these wooden countertops he could scarcely peer over them; now, he can sit upon it without hardly hoisting himself and see the curve of the path that snakes its way into town; how many times had he watched the carriages roll up from this very spot, as he waited so impatiently for the parties to start!

Sebastian quickly gathers things and wraps his arm precisely, putting it into a sling. Smile stares down at it; there certainly will be no more murders going on with him wearing something by which he might so easily be identified. Sebastian's fingers are cool and deft and linger only barely too long at the brush of his wrist before Smile recalls himself and pulls away, staring down at the man haughtily. It's been years since he played the aristocrat, but like any other of his disguises, he slips into it with ease. "Mind you don't become too familiar," he chastises.

"Oh?" Sebastian's eyes grow wide for a moment in surprise before his grin tilts back, even more mischievous. "Are you a lord, to order me so?"

"I haven't ordered you," Smile says. "Merely, reminded—"

"In that case," Sebastian says, "I consider myself reminded." Then, in blatant disregard of his words, he stoops to press a kiss on the back of Smile's hand.

If it weren't for the knife he was still holding, Smile might very well slap him for the affront.

No—though he'd like to, there's still so much unraveling at the edges of this strange game, and he feels barely able to keep up with his own motives, let alone Sebastian's. The knife is merely a convenient excuse, held so loosely in the doctor's other hand. With one carefully-placed kick he could send it flying across the room, and then: well. Then the entire truce would be undone, and strangely, Smile finds that he's not fond of the thought.

_Don't let down your guard_ , he reminds himself, staring at the man's self-assured look; _a man like this is not to be trusted._ Erstwhile murderer and victim: neither of them are.

* * *

They have taken supplies from the kitchen to stage a mock murder, Sebastian laughing as he pours down a bucket of thick blood upon the bed, and Smile turns away with sudden queasiness at the sight. It reminds him too much of _that time_ : and Undertaker's long blade which he used until the blood cloying and sweet and tangy filled the air and the excrement and the burning of the torches fallen onto rich fabric in that hole, that sore in the mountain's back. He wonders, suddenly, if he has not somehow stumbled upon a man too like Undertaker, someone who would take such merriment in carnage. But: it is nothing but a bed, really; and an animal's blood. It is this house, this place that is reminding him of the past. When Sebastian is done he turns and looks back at Smile, cocking his head almost like a dog waiting for approval. _Sebastian was my dog's name_ , Smile thinks. _I wonder what he would say, if I told him? I doubt he would appreciate the comparison_. Still, nothing else comes to mind: and, oddly, the comparison is comforting. He knows how to deal with base creatures at any rate.

"Shall we go, then?" Sebastian says.

Smile swallows. "Yes," he says. "Only wash your hands if you would; you look ghastly."

Sebastian peers down at his hands in confusion. "Ah," he says. Then he goes to wash his hands while Smile rinses out the bucket and replaces it. He takes his knife back too, and though Sebastian glances at him quickly, neither mention the fact. Smile tucks it into the sheathe in his sleeve where he can get to it easily, steadied by its familiar weight.

"I don't think you ever told me your name," Sebastian tells him, as they depart out the window, as the first rays of dawn traverse the lonely mansion.

"Smile."

"I see," Sebastian says, as they inch their way to safer ground. "And I suppose you gained that title because of your tendency to grin so exuberantly?"

Smile gives him a withering look.

"Ah," Sebastian says, sagely. "Irony, then."

"You might consider guarding your tongue, lest I trip you off this cliff," Smile says.

"Yes, my lord," Sebastian says, hardly holding back laughter.

"Oh, shut it," Smile replies.

The footing becomes more treacherous for a space, and they concentrate only on walking carefully; when they finally get onto a more clement hill from which they can reach the town proper, Smile realizes they had grasped each other's hands during the descent, and he cannot quite pinpoint when it had occurred, or by whom.

* * *

Undertaker's house on wheels is a thing that seems hardly capable of being vertical, let alone of withstanding long journeys over crooked dirt paths, through field and forest and mountain alike. The door hangs almost open, held fast by its latch, and the windows are mere suggestions in the clapboard exterior. Still, the impression is anything but paltry. Instead, against that roiling grey sky, it has an ominous presence: something akin to the dead trees; a gaping hole, an impossibility. The steps Undertaker set before it when they stopped moving are almost rotten through, and Smile walks gingerly up to peer through the window. As he suspected, Undertaker has vanished to ready things for the morning; and presumably all the town has gotten wind of Sebastian's "murder" by now. He won't be back soon, not if the police come to question him, but all the same, Smile feels pressed for time, as though at any moment the old man might arrive. He swings open the door and Sebastian steps lightly over the stairs, moving unerringly to the box lying upon the floor, long and thin and eerily casket-like. He pulls open the doors of the cabinet and Smile walks to join him, staring down at the untroubled face of his brother. He feels a thrill of fear, wondering if Sebastian will fail—hardly daring to hope that he won't.

But with a clap of his palms together and a few murmured words, Sebastian has bidden Ciel to rise, which he does with the same contorted agony as with everything else: his eyes, staring, seem to burn. He stands, and does not move after.

Sebastian walks around for a few moments, muttering to himself, peering into shelves, and then walking to Ciel again, while Smile settles himself onto a rickety chair and tries not to feel bored.

At last, Sebastian returns with a small vial which he places in Ciel's hand and has him drink. Then he claps his hands together again and—

Ciel _twists_. One arm reaching out oddly, he seems to scrabble for purchase on the air itself; he sways and his feet give out under him while he makes a terrible, keening noise that rises in volume moment by moment.

Smile jumps up. " _Do_ something, Sebastian!" he shouts, unable to look away from the agony in Ciel's pale face. "Someone will hear!"

Sebastian pushes Ciel down into the box again, and he folds like a marionette: then the doctor closes the lid. There's a muffled sound, like sobbing, for several moments, and then quiet.

"...Ciel?" Smile says, uncertainly, stepping down to crouch next to the box. "Are you okay?"

"Little brother?" Ciel asks after a moment. And: thin and weak, but the voice is his own, and Smile feels, for the first time, a real smile upon his face and he laughs in complete amazement: he puts his elbows upon the box and cries, laughing at the same time, unsure of what he is feeling but overflowing with the sheer sensation of it. "Ciel… oh, Ciel!" he says. "Brother. I've missed you."

"Where am I?" Ciel asks. Sounding so lost and young, as though he has not truly grown; and why should he have? The last he had made a sound, and really moved, or spoken, had been before that glancing slash with the knife, the wound that had bloomed so brilliantly on his side and which he had stared down at with such an expression of shock. Then, before the blade could press home, Undertaker had thrown off his cloak and there had been other screams, and other deaths, and Smile had shaken his brother's body, saying, Ciel, please, run, Ciel come on, why won't you move and his brother. Hadn't moved. Hadn't made a sound. Only stared at him in dim uncomprehension, and… and later, Undertaker had carried the boy out, Smile trailing behind, his bare feet tripping in blood.

"You're safe," Smile reassures him. "We're both safe. They're dead and gone… do you truly remember nothing since?"

There is a small, quizzical silence, and then Ciel says, "I remember people; crowds of them, and… a kind of darkness. Like this I suppose. But what has happened?"

So Smile explains, and at last Ciel says, "I think I would like to see out now."

"Oh!" Smile says, jumping up. "Of course!" He opens the cabinet doors and Ciel sits up, wiping tears from his eyes and looking around with curious wonder at the scene. His gaze lingers on Sebastian for a moment, and he frowns. "Why, I've seen you before," he says.

"You told my fortune, at your master's bidding," Sebastian says, not ungently.

Ciel blinks, and shakes his head slightly, putting one hand to his head. "Undertaker," he says. Then he presses his mouth flat. "Not my master," he says. "And you—" he turns to Smile, and winces in sympathy seeing the patch over his injured eye. "I remember that," he says.

Smile laughs drily. "I should think so," he says. They had forced him to watch, of course: Ciel screaming and pleading, saying he would do anything, offering to give them better entertainment; but they had been most pleased with their helplessness and their cries. But that had been the last time Smile had screamed—stopping somewhere in that blinding middle of pain, as he realized with surprised clarity that the worst they could ever do to him was to try to strip him to pieces—but that that would happen regardless, and could not touch him. Something other than the wound in his ear or the brand on his back; something that had been his own triumph, for they had not been satisfied that night, and they were never satisfied with him after. It had earned him more beatings, but he had not minded at all, and even Ciel's entreaties to play along had not moved him. It was at that moment that Smile had realized the truth of his own power, and like a spider's thread descending into the darkness, it had given him the merest glimmer of light, but which he had used to pull himself, inch by aching inch, from the depths of fear and helplessness into an iron resolve which had never failed him. He _would not_ play along. He was anything other than that which they had tried to make of him.

Yes: in that darkness, he had found himself.

* * *

Smile, and Ciel, and Sebastian, all walk out onto the packed dirt of the fairground, Ciel looking around eagerly, with a bright grin that aches somewhere in Smile's chest to see. It's been so long—and he realizes now how faded his memories of his brother had been, faced now with the true image. As he and Sebastian discuss how to confront Undertaker, Ciel peers interestedly at the bright striped fabric and scuffs the straw with his feet, laughing out of sheer joy. When he sees a food cart set up Ciel wrangles a few coins from Smile and sets off in an unerring line toward it. Not yet open, the grounds are just beginning to stir with last-minute preparations, but for the moment the outside world is yet beyond the silence and readiness of this place. Smile watches his brother from afar, but turns in surprise at the sound of Freckles clearing her throat to announce her presence on his blind side.

"Ey there Smile," she says. Casting a speculative look toward his companion. "Who's this bloke?"

"Er—ah—Seba—" Smile freezes, remembering that Sebastian is supposed to be dead. He trusts Freckles to keep a secret if need be, but he'd rather not pull her into his dark dealings; she's always been sheltered from the uncomfortable truths of their travelling group in a way that he would like her to remain.

"Black," Sebastian adds helpfully, with a charming smile.

"Black, is it? An' what's he doin' here? Not joining us?"

Smile shakes his head. "Well I," he says. Flounders. Turns to look at Sebastian, who only smirks down at him with the most unhelpful expression possible, the bastard.

"Merely escorting Smile home," Sebastian says.

"Oh?" Freckles says. She looks from Sebastian to Smile and something seems to dawn on her. "Oh!"

"Hey—what do you think you're implying?" Smile says, turning to Sebastian.

"Whatever it is, I heard nothin'," Freckles reassures him. "Ah—gotta go get changed, sorry. See ya, Black."

As she darts off, Sebastian says, "well I didn't think the lad would want to hear that you'd been in my bed last night."

"Hah," Smile says. Then: "girl, actually. I know she doesn't seem it but wait till she's dressed up for her tightrope act."

"Oh, is that the one?" Sebastian says, with interest. "Doll, with the white roses? I watched it yesterday. It was _almost_ as impressive as your twin's fortune-telling act."

Speaking of Ciel—Smile turns back to search for him—and freezes. Ciel is nowhere to be seen. But… how? There could be nowhere safer… they hardly looked away for a moment… there isn't even anywhere to hide! Perhaps he walked behind one of the tents?

"Smile?" Sebastian says. "Are you quite all right?"

Smile puts out a hand, unable to speak, and his eye searches desperately for his twin, a towering wave of panic crashing over him.

"Smile," Sebastian says, and moves in front of him, speaking gently. He takes both Smile's hands and stares at him seriously. "What's amiss?"

"Where's Ciel?" Smile says at last, hoarsely.

The shock in Sebastian's eyes would be amusing at any other time. Then the doctor whirls around. "Gone!" he says.

"Yes," Smile says, with bitter sarcasm. "Gone! I'm only half-blind, not an idiot!"

"Perhaps he went into that tent over yonder?" Sebastian says. "It couldn't hurt to check at any rate." So the two move off in search of Smile's errant brother.

They are peering into Beast's tent, and Smile is vaguely wondering if Ciel had gotten into her trunk, thinking it looked like another cabinet, when a creaking laugh announces itself behind them.

"Hide!" Smile says, pushing Sebastian into the tent and letting the flap fall closed behind him just as Undertaker strolls nonchalantly in their direction. "Now Smile, what are you doing looking in a lady's chambers?" Undertaker says, with a dangerous grin.

"Trying to look for…" Smile says. He waves an arm vaguely. "I thought I saw a…"

"Yes?"

"Ah," Smile says, following helplessly as Undertaker pushes through the entrance and looks around the space.

"Hm," Undertaker says. He glances at himself in the small mirror and pokes at one of Beast's corsets, lying discarded over a chair. "Well." He turns around. "You did nicely," he says. "The police are _all_ over us. I think we'll get an even bigger crowd today!" He rubs his hands together in glee. Then seems to really look at Smile for the first time. "Well now," he says, tilting his head. "How'd you break your arm?"

"Fell," Smile says. "Climbing out the window."

"Oh dearie me," Undertaker says. "You should get that looked at, you know."

Smile nods.

For a moment, they stare at each other, each waiting for the other to leave the tent first. Finally, Smile edges out of it, just in time to trip over Beast's feet at the entrance.

"Oi!" Beast shouts, grabbing him.

"Ow!" Smile says. "My arm—"

"What were you doing in my tent?" Beast says, glowering down at him.

"Talking to Undertaker!" Smile says desperately, gesturing wildly in that direction.

"Undertaker?" Beast says, and pokes her head inside. But: somehow, Undertaker has already vanished. Beast turns around to him, looking thunderous.

"...I really can explain?" Smile says weakly.

"Oh, geddout," Beast sighs. "Go bother Doll if you need ta spy on a girl, she'd appreciate it anyhow."

Smile slinks off. There's no way he could get back in that tent now, and he doesn't know where Sebastian is hiding, anyway. Though it turns out he doesn't need to, because Sebastian joins up with him a minute later, grinning smugly.

"No one saw a thing!" he announces.

"Except you, I suppose," Smile says. "Where were you hiding anyway?"

"In Beast's trunk. Where else?"

"Don't tell me you saw her changing," Smile groans. Sebastian merely shrugs his shoulders, looking far too pleased. "And she yelled at _me_ about it!"

* * *

But Ciel is nowhere to be found. The public rush in to view all acts, but the tent where lately were the mysterious somnambulist and the Undertaker with his cabinet is now shut. Smile feels more and more horribly unsettled every moment, and is not sure whether he fears more never finding Ciel again, or Undertaker accusing him of causing Ciel's disappearance. Still, all that is cast aside by a sudden flurry in the crowd, and he hears whispers of "murder!" Smile casts Sebastian a worried glance, and the two of them head toward the trouble. Smile has changed to another disguise: the kind of lady who might be seen escorted by a gentleman like Sebastian, someone with heavy skirts and a parasol to cut the sun. That, and a lacy shawl, at least draw attention away from his face and injured arm. As they wander toward the police precinct they begin to hear the details: someone has, in fact, been murdered, and everyone is gossiping, put on edge by the spate of violence that has lowered itself over the town.

"Really," a young man wearing a policeman's uniform says, with placating gestures, "there's nothing to worry about."

"But what if this murderer kills us!" a woman says.

"Yeah!" a whole crowd beside her murmurs, angrily.

The young policeman looks around, uncertainly. "We're doing our best to find the person who did these terrible things. In fact… we're very certain…"

"Abberline!" Another, older man swoops out of the building to speak sharply to him. "We've got a confession!"

Everyone stops, with bated breath.

"You see?" the young man says, with a reassuring smile. "You don't have to worry anymore! We've found the murderer!"

Sebastian and Smile push their way past as the policeman try to deal with the crowd, and Sebastian's forbidding glare and snappish, "I'm a doctor," sends the policemen that line the halls skittering out of his way, while Smile follows demurely behind, sending a sickly-sweet look in the direction of those consternated expressions.

The jail cell is dark, the only light coming in from a barred window which seems to cut the cell into geometric quadrants and create the uncanny illusion that the person within them has been chopped into pieces—an arm here, a leg there; hands pressed against a weeping face framed with hair as red as blood.

"Aunt Anne," Smile says, softly. The woman looks up, anguish in her expression. "Sebastian? And—you… oh," she stands up and, lurching, walks a step toward them, to stop some feet beyond the bars that separate them. "My darling nephew…" she reaches out a hand and then flinches, drawing in a sickly breath. "Is this enough for you? This revenge? I know I never… I know I wasn't able to… find you… back then…"

"Aunt Anne, did you kill that man?" Smile presses, insistantly.

"What?" for a moment, his aunt seems surprised. "I mean—of course—that's what I told them—they won't hear any different. You're safe, Ciel."

"Ciel!" Sebastian says, with an indrawn breath; and Smile's hands grip tightly around the handle of his parasol, which he is still holding tilted over his face, though he should have closed it already, being indoors. He does so now, and watches his aunt gasp.

"Your eye?" she says. And then the truth seems to strike her. "It's you!" she says.

"It's me," Smile says. "Your _other_ nephew. Now…" he scrapes the pointed tip of his parasol against the bars and hears the dull rasp it makes, watches his aunt's fearful eyes follow the motion… "what was this about Ciel?"

So his aunt spills the whole story. How she had seen Ciel in the night committing a murder, and how he had convinced her to take the fall for him instead. "What else could I do?" she says. "I thought you were dead for so long… how could I lose him again so soon…"

"A noble sentiment, perhaps," Smile says coldly, "but ineffectual. Now you're going to hang for crimes you didn't even commit in the first place."

His aunt laughs shakily. "Still I can't… you understand… I can't let you; not again…"

Oh yes. Back then: as the two were pulled screaming from the room, while the bodies of their parents lay in their hot blood on the ground, his aunt had run into the doorway, casting her eye wildly over the whole scene: and one of the hooded figures had turned back to her, pointing dangerously with the knife, warning clear. And so she had stood: unable to back away, but without speaking, as the two children were dragged away into the unspeakable suffering they would endure—always knowing that she had been there… and not done a single thing.

"Well," Smile says. "That's your affair." He turns aside. "Come, Sebastian," he says peremptorily, "I think we're finished here." And Sebastian, with no more than a pitying look toward the weeping woman who had so lately been his lover, follows.

* * *

They rent a room in the evening; for Sebastian's house has been seized by the police after his presumed death, and everything with it. A room high on the fourth, tilting floor, under the crooked roof; built up over the streets below until it almost touches the room across, which they could get to with hardly more than a jump—a quick getaway, if need be. The shadow of the street below is cut only by a few gas-lamps that cast small puddles of brightness around but do not make the darkness of the night any less entire. Bowed heads in top hats and bowlers walk quickly on either side, and those trail off as the night becomes late, to only a few, brave enough to face the empty streets, lead by boys carrying lanterns for a few coins. There are some, of course, who take the night as their own; but those have their own places, and would not tarry on such a well-traversed path.

"Ciel," Smile says, darkly. He has changed out of his disguise, into a nightshirt, and is sitting upon the single chair while Sebastian stares out the window with a thunderous expression. "Why would he… unless… he is trying to complete our revenge. Oh!" he groans, raking his hands through his hair. "I should have _known_. Even as children, neither of us were simple…"

"What revenge might this be?" Sebastian says at last. "You said that you and your brother had suffered, and I thought at the time there was no need to pry. But if your brother is to go around murdering and framing those he dislikes…"

"Perhaps he's done with it?" Smile says, but already, he knows that is too much to hope for. "So many of the men and women who defiled us are dead already. Undertaker saw to that. There were five or six left, at the most. Some managed to flee as Undertaker saw to my brother's injury; those nearest the door. My brother knows them no better than I, but they were all rich, of good standing…" he shrugs. "Ciel might just sweep through the noble houses and kill everyone who strikes him the wrong way—or perhaps force them into a confession. But…" suddenly he jumps up. "But… perhaps Undertaker would know who they were! He saw them as the group went in, he had hidden himself among them… he would know! I never asked, because I thought we were never returning." He takes a shaking breath. "Undertaker might know, and if so—perhaps my brother has returned to him to gain his coöperation."

"Then that is where we shall go, tomorrow," Sebastian says grimly.

Smile looks at his expression, so unlike his usual laughing countenance, and a thought strikes him. "You cared about my aunt," he says.

"She… was not intolerable," Sebastian says; but his knuckles, on the window-frame, go white with strain. "I find myself terribly unfond of your twin. I hope, dear one, that you don't take it as an affront."

Smile laughs dourly. "I shan't," he says. "He might damn well have told me his plan—I would have helped him; at least to gain revenge upon those that actually _deserved_ our ire." Aunt Anne—deserved his disdain; and did not hold his trust; but he wouldn't have arranged her death and dishonour. Not for something as understandable as simple terror, as feet that refused to move when faced by a knife. It was cowardly, but many people were cowardly when it came down to that: it is something that, as a murderer himself, he has seen many times.

* * *

By the next morning, more murders have been committed: Baron Kelvin's house has gone up in flames, at a party where those of high society have been mingling, and a score of people are found dead in the wreckage. Ciel, it seems, has not differentiated between those who were involved in the twins' torture and their servants; Smile, in his own clothing, watches the flames from the hill opposite, Sebastian by his side, and curses. "Too late!" he says. "That might have been the last of them…" and once the revenge is complete, Ciel could disappear entirely, or perhaps return as though nothing had happened. Smile will accept neither. He wants to confront his brother, to face him and force him to speak truthfully for once.

Sebastian speaks, quietly; and the reflections of the flames seem to dance within his eyes, making them glitter reddish and deep. "There might yet be one more chance."

"And that would be?" Smile asks.

"The Viscount Druitt," Sebastian says. "I don't know if he was involved in the terrors you were subjected to—but I myself once received an invitation to a 'party' hosted by him, where he implied there might be the worst kind of dealings if one was… curious enough to go down the basement stairs."

Smile catches his breath. "And were you… curious enough."

Sebastian stares back at him, and does not answer. Smile, stepping back, shivers; for a moment he feels as though he must run—though where he would go, he doesn't know. There can be no going back to Undertaker's caravan now; he has thrown his lot in with Sebastian. And he hasn't second-guessed himself, but now bile rises in his throat, and he wonders: just _what_ it was that Sebastian had ever been witness to, being part of the same circles as those who practiced unspeakable things.

Sebastian says nothing, only gazes back, as though wondering also what Smile will do. But there is nothing for Smile _to_ do: go crawling back to what family he has left? Weep at Elizabeth's feet and beg her forgiveness, pretend to be an ordinary young man who has never sunk a knife into unwilling flesh? He can't. There are no other paths open to him than to see this through, and at last, the heavy knowledge of it seems to hang between them. It does not matter. None of it does. Smile laughs, a terrible, wild thing, and it goes on and on, reaching over the hills to get caught in the grasping fingers of the trees beyond; to dash into the inexorable sides of the mountains, which swallow up every sound into their deep hollows and ruptures. He laughs, clutching his stomach, until he has no more voice, only shaking breath that catches its way from his throat, and he falls silent. Then, and only then, does Sebastian offer his arm, and Smile takes it. With silent, painful steps, they walk from the burning house, while the heat of it casts itself against their backs, and the crackling, groaning emptiness of the crumbling edifice hisses, and pops, and wails.

* * *

"I wondered if you two would show up," Ciel says sweetly, wiping the blade of his knife clean. There is a body, sitting slumped between him and Smile and Sebastian, a body with long blond hair that had once been tied back, and staring, terrified eyes; a mouth open in an expression of horror. The young man's name had been Edgar Redmond, once; he had been the Viscount of Druitt's doted-upon nephew, the only thing in the world that had mattered to the man more than all the riches in his possession. Now it is only a body, mutilated and dead.

"Of course we would," Smile hisses. He steps forward, flinging out his hand to point toward the body. "What are you doing? This man wouldn't have been involved. He's barely older than us."

"Oh, I'm aware," Ciel says. His gaze grows flat. "It's not what _he_ did, it's what his uncle did, you know." He holds up his fingers, counting down. "That's five of six punished. Blanc—her dear twin brother chopped into pieces while she watched. I daresay it broke her mind and punished her more than her own death would have. Kelvin—shot—he cared about no one but himself. Trancy—also shot. Faustus, shot as well, at the same party, where their remains will burn together into soot. And now Druitt: he'll lose his nephew. At least Redmond wasn't defiled before his death, as _they_ would have done to us."

Smile's eyes narrow. "And the sixth?" he asks.

"As if I'd give away the finale before its time?" Ciel says, and laughs condescendingly. He steps forward, close, and looks challengingly toward Smile. "Oh, little brother… you're so easy to read. Why do you _care_ about any of this? It's not out of some sense of justice. No, you have none—" he points, with his knife, toward Smile's breast. "You've killed innocents and never spared a thought for them. No, this is jealousy, pure and simple. You're jealous that I've done more for our revenge in a few short days than you managed in ten years."

"I was trying to _protect_ you!" Smile bursts out, his hands clenched.

"Do you think I wanted your protection?" Ciel hisses. "I was as good as dead—you knew it—and you should have made those responsible _pay_ for what they'd done. Instead, you traipsed off with a traveling group, leaving this town behind, learning to entertain the masses—you may have stayed by my body but you as good as left me behind in a shallow grave."

"So what if I did," Smile retorts, in wild, bitter anger—saying things that he has hardly dared to _think_ before this, let alone speak. "If you were dead, as you say, what reason should I have for weeping incessantly by your bedside? If I was the only Phantomhive left, why shouldn't I have moved on and left this filthy place behind?"

"Because you had a _duty_!" Ciel screams.

"I had a duty to _myself_!" Smile shouts back.

There is a long and echoing silence in the wake of this pronouncement, and the brothers stare at each other with the same look of betrayal; something shocked and bereft. Smile steps back, and opens his mouth as though to explain; then shuts it, lips pressed together. Sebastian moves closer to him, and Smile feels his presence like a dark wing, open and angry on his behest. He sees Ciel's disgusted look toward the doctor at the motion, and then his brother laughs once, bitterly.

"Well," he says. "I see you can't be reached. I wanted to try, one last time, you know. I thought, perhaps—we could join forces—"

"You know I would have joined you," Smile says in a harsh whisper. "If you had but asked."

Ciel shakes his head, and dashes out the door, down the stairs and out into the streets below, into a gathering crowd; there are policemen that do not miss the knife and the blood dripping from it and spattered across his hand, though he has pulled his cloak up to hide all but the barest glimpse of his face, and one blue, staring eye.

Dashing after him, Sebastian and Smile are stopped in the hall by the figure of Undertaker that melts from the shadows; the man has procured a scythe from somewhere and though it's an unwieldy blade to fight with, made for cutting down wheat and grasses, he holds it deftly before him and, in their shock at seeing such a blade pulled from his cloak, the man manages to wound Sebastian.

Then he darts away, cackling madly, and Smile hears the loud slamming of the door below being opened and countless footsteps running up the stairs.

Smile pulls Sebastian to his feet, putting the man's arm over his shoulder, and leading him at a staggering run through the building.

"There they are!" he hears the cries come behind him. "There's the one with the knife—I recognize his face!"

The house stands at the edge of the embanked river, the waters lapping against the very stone of its foundations, and Smile, standing at the window, realizes that there is no other exit for them. He pulls the sling from his broken arm, to allow for movement—Sebastian grips his hand tightly, and without a word spoken, they climb upon the sill, and clutch at each other, and then jump out into nothingness—Smile closes his eyes, feeling the wind rake itself around them, a whistling stillness that seems to last forever—and then they are sinking fast into deep water.

He forces his mouth closed and tries to swim with one free arm, kicking his shoes off and then kicking out his legs, trying to pull himself upward; Sebastian, holding fast to Smile's side, presses a bloodied glove against his stomach and kicks as well. And at last their heads break the surface; Smile's eyepatch has drifted away along the current and his hair is plastered to him. He takes a gaping breath and sinks again, hardly able to stay above water with the injured man on his arm, as the two are pulled from the house; and for a moment, Smile is certain that this is how he will die: holding fast to a man he barely knows, swallowing muddied water, wanted for murder because of his brother's actions. His eyes slip shut.

Then they bump up against something and catch hold, and it is a boat, docked and bobbing in the current. Smile uses the rest of his strength to climb in and pull Sebastian in after him, pulling the tarp, sitting over the boat in case of rain, back over them to cover them completely. Only now does he feel the sharp throbbing ache of his broken arm protesting at its rough treatment—the wrappings are still tight, but weep water.

In the greenish darkness, he lies close against Sebastian, watching pain wrack itself across the doctor's features. Their soaking clothes seem heavy and smell rankly of fish. The doctor's white glove, where he still holds his hand to his stomach, is stained with blood.

"Sebastian," Smile says, in a low voice, and the man's eyes open. Sebastian manages a sickly smile, and leans his head forward to press a small kiss to Smile's mouth: and it is that, more than anything, that strikes fear into Smile's heart. "You can't die on me now. You're not allowed to. You hear me? You're not _allowed_." Smile chokes, and his words trail off into a cough; he spits up river water he doesn't remember swallowing, mixing with vomit. It adds to the stink and lies between them, covering the shoulder of Sebastian's overcoat; but dizziness is overcoming him, and unable to keep himself braced on his elbow, Smile lets his head fall back against it, the sick getting into his hair. His skull _thunks_ heavily against the bottom of the boat, and behind his back, Sebastian's other arm is curled at an awkward angle. All he can do is shiver; but it is not from cold: it is near midday, and the summer is warm. Even under the tarp, even in these shadows, he sees a glint of light cut its way scross their legs.

"Fuck," Smile says. And then louder: " _Fuck_ this! I won't let Ciel win… I won't _die_ here, like a rat in a trap." He struggles into a sitting position and looks down at Sebastian, pressing one hand upon his forehead, and then carding his fingers, fretfully, through the doctor's jet-black hair.

"Did I ever tell you," Smile says, slowly, "that I loved your hair?"

"I do not… believe so," Sebastian croaks. He opens his eyes, and they seem to shine up at him, cat-like.

"Mm," Smile says, still petting Sebastian's head, "I do, though. I'm quite fond of it, over-long though it may be. So, you see… you wouldn't want to deprive me of looking upon something I'm fond of."

Sebastian smiles. "Not at all, my lord," he says ironically. "Of course if you order it, I _can't_ die."

"Then," Smile says, and presses a kiss to Sebastian's forehead, "I order you not to die."

Sebastian laughs, and Smile finds his lips quirking. Then he pushes the tarp away and stumbles to his feet.

The sudden brightness is overwhelming, and for a moment he blinks, unable to see anything other than spots of color. The distorted, blurred images from his blind eye confuse the sight from his good one, and even after his vision has adjusted, he feels somewhat nauseous: though that could be from the tossing boat.

He braces himself against the bow and holds out an arm for Sebastian, who takes it and manages, at last, to stand.

"Where now?" Smile asks.

"Somewhere to recover," Sebastian says. "But neither of us have money…" he gestures with his free arm vaguely toward his turned-out pockets, where he had emptied them of his money bag under the river, and all the weight of coins with it.

"Hm,' Smile says. "In that case, I know just the place."

* * *

"What the hell happened to you?" Sieglinde asks, staring at him in shock as he and Sebastian push their way into her tent. It is gloaming, and Sieglinde is sitting on her bed with a candle on the table beside her, reading. But she jumps up and hobbles toward them as they enter, taking hold of Sebastian's side and trying to help Smile move him toward the bed. The doctor collapses upon it, stinking of the river and of Smile's vomit and holding his hand still tightly against the wound. Sieglinde sits down beside him, wincing and rubbing her hands along her feet and ankles. "Last I heard you were wanted for murder," she hisses quietly. "What's been going _on_ , Smile?"

So Smile explains everything. Sieglinde stares up at him with her dark, calm gaze while Smile stands, one arm folded awkwardly, the other hanging by his side, and when he's finished speaking she looks from him to Sebastian and shakes her head. "Only you, Smile," she says wryly. She flops back on the bed, sighing loudly, and then holds up one hand. "Bandages—the drawer over there. Poultice? Let's see… Hm. Brandy… and don't think I've forgotten about you," she says to Smile, "running around with a broken arm like that," she tsks. She carefully moves Sebastian's hand aside and he opens his eyes to gaze at her blearily.

"Well," she says with a slight smile, "it could be much worse. Hasn't reached the internal organs. And you've kept pressure on it. Very good!"

She pours a bit of brandy onto a clean cloth and presses it against the wound. Sebastian hisses. "Are you… a doctor, miss?" he asks at last.

"In all but name," Sieglinde says. "Trained by one who lost his license. Name of Doc."

"Ahh," Sebastian says. "The very _memorable_ name of Doc. I'm sure I know exactly to whom you refer."

"I can see why you fell for him," Sieglinde says conversationally, to Smile, who is hovering at her shoulder. "He's got your sense of humor."

"I didn't… _fall_ for him!" Smile blusters, his face growing hot.

"No?" Sieglinde asks, smiling. "Didn't I just hear about a love-struck jump together into the river? Come _on_ , that's epic love right there."

"In a penny dreadful, maybe," Smile mutters. "We were being chased by the _police_."

"Mm-hm," Sieglinde says, her grin growing wider. "Okay," she says at last, "Sorry, Sebastian, you'll have to sit up for a minute—" Sebastian does so, and she wraps clean bandages, covered in honey, around the wound. "Now for you," she says, crooking her fingers toward Smile, who takes off his shirt and sits in front of her. She unwraps the bandages on his arm and re-wraps them, while Sebastian rests his chin against Smile's shoulder, brushing his hands across Smile's side, dipping close to his hips and then hooking his fingers even lower, skimming under the waistband of his trousers.

" _Sebastian_ ," Smile hisses.

"Yes?" Sebastian says.

"You _know_ what you're doing."

"I'm just… warming you up," Sebastian says. "You seemed cold."

"Of all the ridiculous excuses…" Smile says, turning his head back to stare up into Sebastian's grinning face.

"Well, how can I resist?" Sebastian says. "You looked so delicious… so I just unconsciously…"

"Oh, you 'unconsciously' tried to pull down my pants, is that it?" Smile huffs.

Sieglinde laughs. "Well, if you want to go further," she says, leaning forward with a daring smirk toward Sebastian, a wicked glint in her eye, "perhaps you'll consider giving the girl who saved your life a bit of love while you're at it?"

"Why, certainly," Sebastian replies, in a magnanimous tone. He meets Sieglinde's parted lips and they kiss, Smile sitting between them, their chins almost bumping into his head.

"You tosser," Smile says, though his recriminatory tone is strained and does not convince anyone. He coughs, politely, and looks away from Sieglinde's breasts, which are almost visible beneath her thin nightgown and seem quite keen of getting closer to his face than he feels quite comfortable with. Sebastian's questing fingers have not let up all the while, and by now have managed to unbutton his trousers completely, slipping their way under his pants to touch the skin there. Smile is _not_ chilled, and certainly not in need of any 'warming up'—but the heat of Sebastian's uncovered palms against his cock is rather persuasive. Sieglinde reaches her own hand down to her sex and begins to run her fingers over the soft hair there, the flush rising to her cheeks as she and Sebastian continue to kiss messily, breaking only occasionally for breath, strings of spit swinging down between them to drip onto Smile's matted hair, onto his cheek. Then, too tempted by the swing of Siglinde's breasts and the taut nipples, he licks through the fabric, wetting them, swirling around, and then grazing his teeth gently against them. Sieglinde gasps, and moans into Sebastian's mouth. "Mm—Smile… more…"

"How much?" Smile asks, flicking his fingernails against them; then reaching up to Sieglinde's shoulders, pressing his palms against her back. Sweat is running down her shoulderblades, and it sticks their skin together… Sebastian's hand has begun to move in a teasing rhythm, and he feels more and more close to shaking apart…

"Bite down," Sieglinde says. "Ah…" with her free hand she traces the hollow of Smile's hipbone and down his thigh, meeting Sebastian's hand, for an instant, then pulling back.

So Smile complies, and Sieglinde gasps, and brings herself to climax, pulling away from Sebastian's mouth, clutching at Smile for purchase; and then, a moment later, Smile is spurting come across her belly. He blinks, and Sebastian works himself to a finish, kissing Smile on the side of the neck, and scraping his teeth gently along his jugular, as though reminding him how easy it is to die.

Smile laughs, and Sieglinde giggles with him, and then Sebastian is laughing too; and it is as though they shake the tension and fear of the future from the tent with their quiet, conspiratorial laughter.

"My, my, doctors…" he says at last. "What a unique bedside manner you two have."

Siglinde laughs again, and tucks some of her short, dark hair behind her ear. "Nothing but the best for you," she says, kissing Smile chastely on the cheek. "Though I'm afraid, since you're the only one of us in a state to walk, you'll have to drag the washing-up buckets here yourself."

"I knew there was something I was dreading," Smile says, with mock-seriousness. He sighs, and stretches his shoulders. "But really, Sieglinde—thank you for everything. Without you…"

"I know," Sieglinde says, touching his cheek. "I know. There's nothing to thank. I would always look out for you, starshine."

He takes her hand in his and squeezes, tightly, for a moment, before closing his eyes. Then he opens them again, harder and colder than before; already planning his next move.

* * *

This next disguise takes slightly more effort than Smile's others; it requires a blonde wig, a pair of tinted spectacles to hide his blind eye, and his cousin's armour, which he requisitioned from the Midford house late the previous night, as his cousins slept all-unknowing in the next room. As a knight, Edward Midford would garner a great amount of respect, necessary for something like sneaking into an asylum. Sebastian accompanies him in the guise of a priest. This is where they have heard that Ciel escaped to, hiding behind the forbidding exterior, and the tall, frowning gates. The asylum is large and has the dilapidated aspect of a house that has never been built by one sane mind. Tall, crooked gables reach to the sky; the other side seems squat and lopsided, and it is wrapped round by dark-needled bushes that hide the grounds from outside view.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not authorized to give that information," a guard replies, boredly; using his walking stick to nudge his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Perhaps if you asked the Director? He oversees processing of all new patients here, he'd know if there's anyone of this description inside."

"You don't understand," Smile snaps, "he wouldn't be a patient, he would be here somewhere—hiding. Probably with the help of one of the staff." He glares at the recalcitrant guard, and the nametag which reads a simple and unhelpful "Spears".

"Ask the Director," Spears replies.

"Now listen here," Smile starts, but just at that moment, the young man beside Spears speaks up.

"You'd better do as he says," the man says in a listless voice. His own name tag, reading "Violet" is crooked and half-covered by his cloak; and his hair is a ratty mess, stained purple at the ends. He has deep greyish bags under his eyes and a waxen countenance, and looks better suited to be one of the patients than a guard. "If you'll just wait till midnight, I'm sure you'll get all the answers you need."

"Midnight?" Smile asks. "Why?"

"Because," Violet says. He raises one charcoal-smudged hand and pulls the hood of his cloak over his head, as though too tired to engage with them any longer. "That's when the Director meets with suppliants."

"Suppliants?" Smile sputters, as Violet walks off absently. "What kind of institution is this, anyway?"

"It's a madhouse," Spears says, in his matter-of-fact tone.

"Yes, I—it was a _rhetorical_ question," Smile says. Sebastian smiles serenely beside him.

As they walk off together, Smile whispers, "all right, it seems we'll have to wait to get our answers till tonight—but see if you can't sneak around meanwhile and discover anything else."

Sebastian nods, and breaks off.

Day passes slowly. Smile is not able to get anything more from any of the staff, and hopes dourly that midnight will bring something worth the effort. At last, at the appointed time, he is directed into a long hall, where the moon casts an eerie glow through tall mullioned windows, illuminating a long table covered in a white cloth and set with many plates. Everyone else is already seated, and Smile sits down beside Sebastian with an uneasy feeling, looking toward the last empty spot, to his right, at the head of the table.

Across from him, Spears is sipping from a teacup. Beside the guard, a young man with dual-toned blonde and black hair is lying facedown and snoring. Violet has pushed his place setting aside and is drawing on the white cloth with charcoal, and they are not even the least ordinary members of the group. Smile sees triplets dressed in lavender whispering in each others' ears and eyeing him pointedly, and a woman with bandages over one eye crying into a bowl of soup.

"Are we sure this isn't the patients' table?" he mutters, sotto voce, to Sebastian.

"It does seem rather… unusual," Sebastian replies, looking slightly bewildered, and his bewilderment reassures Smile. Everyone else is here acting like this is nothing out of the ordinary, and it would be all too easy, in the face of such things, to fear that the one out of touch was really oneself.

The man on the other side of Sebastian is talking to a snake. Smile is fairly certain that the snake just _nodded its head_ , as though it were talking back.

At last, the Director arrives, a top hat with a fork stuck through it pulled low over his eyes, and bearing an uncanny grin. He seats himself regally in his high, thronelike chair, and Smile begins to feel a creeping fear, something that begins at his fingers and then dashes toward his heart.

"What a surprise," the Director says, turning to look at him: "if it isn't… my dear Smile."

He pulls off his hat, and his long, ragged hair spills free.

Smile leaps to his feet. "Undertaker!" he says.

Undertaker chuckles. "But I don't think it's me you wanted to speak with. No, I think…" he crooks one finger, and a man walks out of the shadows to stand beside him. "You wanted to talk to your brother?"

"Ciel, what are you doing with him?" Smile says.

"Doing?" Ciel says, tilting his head innocently. "Why, nothing, little brother… merely carrying out our revenge, as you've refused to do." He swings himself onto Undertaker's lap, and the man reaches his black-nailed hand around Ciel's neck, his fingernails biting deep into the skin. Ciel doesn't seem to notice.

"I think it's time we explained ourselves," Undertaker croons, "don't you, pet?"

"Mm," Ciel says absently.

Undertaker darts them a grin. "So noble, don't you think?" he says, pressing a kiss to the corner of Ciel's mouth. "It's simple, really. Ciel wanted the chance to kill people who had wronged him, and I obliged." He pours from a teapot, one-handed, uncaring of the fact that the lid falls off and rolls to a stop somewhere next to a vase of flowers; he fills the cup far over the brim and then throws sugar cubes into it with abandon—and holds it to Ciel's lips for the young man to drink.

"Not as simple as that," Sebastian says grimly, standing too. In his black robes, he points an accusing finger at Undertaker. "I've known from the moment I set eyes on Ciel that he was no ordinary somnambulist… and I soon proved as such to my satisfaction. He was under a combination of mesmerism and drugs that you concocted to keep him docile for years. Why? Just to have another act to fill your traveling group?"

Smile gasps, looking at Sebastian. "You never told me this," he hisses. Sebastian meets his eyes with something like sympathy, but says nothing.

"Not just for that purpose," Undertaker says. "At first, I admit, it was to keep him quiet while he healed…" his hands skate across Ciel's abdomen. In his fine blue suit, under the pallid moonlight, the Phantomhive twin looks like nothing so much as a glass-eyed porcelain doll. "But then I began to realize how useful it might be to have something tied entirely to my will. Call it an experiment, of sorts." Though he might be talking of Ciel, when he speaks, his eyes are fixed on Smile.

"You," Smile says, voice shaking. "You used me to kill for you, telling me you were trying to cure my brother! But you were the cause of his illness the whole time!"

"Quite so," Undertaker says. His grin widens further, and his pale teeth gleam. "What a hilarious turn of events, wouldn't you say?" His hand, which has been holding one of Ciel's arms, waves out wildly, and Ciel's arm drops limply to his side, as though he cannot even move his own limbs. "For you see, it gets even better!" He laughs, a terrible, echoing cackle that peals through the hall like the chimes of a bell. No one else at the table speaks, though many of them watch the altercation: no one stands to move against Undertaker.

The woman who had been weeping earlier calmly pours herself another cup of tea.

Undertaker traces the side of Ciel's face gently. "How about it, pet? Do you want to tell them, or shall I?"

At that, a spark of interest lights in Ciel's eyes, and he leans forward, kissing Undertaker, pressing his tongue into the man's mouth and gripping him by the shoulders so hard it looks as though it would bruise. Smile staggers and falls back upon the bench, staring down at his place setting blankly. _All those years_ , he thinks, _I was so grateful to Undertaker for rescuing us, for_ caring… _but he was one of Them the whole time_. He remembers:

Undertaker peering over Ciel's sickbed, back when Ciel had still had a sickbed and not a mean cabinet; holding his brother's small hand close to his mouth—Undertaker mixing gruel, carefully, in a black iron cauldron, pouring vials of this and that inside, all in the name of curing him. _Neither_ of them had spoken, those first few days after, and Smile had recovered from the shock, he thought—but Ciel had slipped more and more into what seemed like a trance from which there could be no recovery. Why would he have suspected, as a child, that the one who had saved them might all the time be poisoning his brother? Once, Smile remembers, he would have balked at being pointed and told to kill, like a dog. How had it all happened? What careful pieces had been put in place in their very beings that Smile had never suspected at all?

He looks up again when Ciel speaks. His brother has stood, hands pressed against the table linens, and his brother's blue eyes bore into his, while Smile's red-tinted spectacles turn everything a bloody hue.

"Do you want to know who the sixth man was, little brother?" Ciel hisses, vehemently.

"I know," Smile says. His mouth has gone dry, and everything in his sight seems to blur together into a smear of purple. "It's Undertaker."

"Undertaker?" Ciel says. He laughs. " _Undertaker?_ You fool. The sixth man has always been… Sebastian!"

The sounds of tea being poured rush past his ear, like the river he had so recently swum through. The clink of a teaspoon hitting a saucer, somewhere, rings out.

Smile turns.

"Sebastian," he says, under his breath. He doesn't know if it's meant to be a question, a reassurance that this is nonsense, or a condemnation, but when he sees Sebastian's still face he knows, all at once, that Ciel is right.

"You…" he says. "You…"

"I'm sorry," Sebastian says, quietly.

"You," Smile says. A terrible anger is rising in him, and his words seem to tumble over each other; his hands tremble. He cannot move. "You," he says, in a whisper. And remembers: those dead-eyed masks, and the velvet cloaks, which looked so similar to the black robes that Sebastian now wears; and the smiles that he had tried always to look away from. Which _one_ of them had he been? It is almost a moot point. What did it matter, to piece out if the man who held him down while was branded had been Trancy or Kelvin or one of the other innumerable revellers, to figure out if that sweet, motherly aspect on the woman who liked to force her fingers into his throat until he vomited had been Blanc? What did it matter if Sebastian had been the man who always lurked in the shadows, never speaking, never touching him at all, watching and watching and listening to his cries for help, and had pressed one foot, in its sharp black heel, upon his stomach while a blonde-haired reveller forced his legs apart? What did _any_ of it matter at all?

"Why?" he says, and does not even know that he is speaking. _What does it matter_ , his mind is repeating as though locked in a refrain, but his mouth is unbound and it speaks. "Why? What did you gain from it all? From any of it?"

For a long moment he thinks Sebastian will not answer. Then, in a voice so quiet it seems pulled from him against his will, Sebastian says, "reprieve from boredom… for a while."

Smile takes off the spectacles over his eye, and stares at Sebastian with the two, uncovered. "Do you remember this?" he says, pointing, and his hands shake.

Sebastian smiles, softly. And the gesture is so _wrong_ , so terribly _wrong_ , that he wants to dash it to pieces and strangle it and beat it to death under his clenched fists. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I remember… that was when you stopped screaming."

Smile takes a breath, and another breath, and another, and the hand holding the spectacles opens. The spectacles crash against the side of his plate and it breaks into a thousand red shards on the pristine white cloth.

"You did it," he says dully.

"I have always been so very proud of you," Sebastian says. "I wondered if you would break, like all the other toys, but instead you melted and became something of the most exquisite beauty."

"No," Smile says. He shakes his head. That moment—has always been _his_ triumph, not theirs. They never made him, he made himself… he _refused_ them…

And yet Sebastian's face is open and wondering, as though he has seen a miracle. He touches one finger to the lashes beneath his injured eye, and Smile remembers the nails of the reveller that had poked their way through the tender flesh, and the way someone—he thought it had been a different one—had spit in it afterward, and let go of his hair, and… they had left, grumbling about his silence. "Broken thing," someone had said. "When they get like this they're good for nothing anymore; they might as well be dead."

Not all of them. One had stayed, and watched him while he lay there, to all intents and purposes like a mindless doll, and he had been certain that he had won. Oh, he had been so certain, then, that he had _won_.

Smile closes his eyes, and Sebastian brushes a kiss across the closed lid, and he shudders. One hand, grasping at the table, finds the handle of a knife—

And he opens his eyes. He takes hold of the butter knife, and holds it between them, and wonders if this time he will not hesitate.

"Go on," Ciel is shouting. "Go on, brother, kill him! What are you waiting for? We've arranged all of this just for you!"

"'We've'?" Smile says, standing and spinning around, and he lunges.

Somehow, his aim is true—he watches as the knife sticks its way into Undertaker's heart, and Ciel screams. "What have you done? What are you doing?"

"Don't you see?" Smile says. "He's as bad as the rest of them. If Sebastian deserves to die, then _so does everyone else_."

Ciel grasps onto Undertaker's shoulders, and babbles in his ear, entreating him not to die—but only in fairytales can you order someone not to die and make them obey. Smile takes the teacup full of the tea that Undertaker had poured, and turns back to Sebastian, who is sitting, and watching him, and has not moved.

"I will not kill you," Smile says. "No, it will be so much worse than that… you understand?" He reaches out, into Sebastian's hair, and Sebastian tilts his head back. His eyes flicker shut.

"Yes, my lord," he says.

And Smile tilts the cup toward Sebastian's open mouth, until Sebastian has swallowed every drop.

* * *

There is silence, after.

The guards have dragged Undertaker's body away, and cleaned up the remains of the tea party, and the other guests have left.

Only Ciel is still there, staring blankly into the distance, weeping; and Sebastian is still there, drugged with the Undertaker's concoction, lost in an endless trance.

"Come," Smile says, and Sebastian follows, his steps slow and shuffling, and his eyes open as though staring—as though in agony—in horror—but his face is relaxed and his body moves only at Smile's command.

* * *

  


  


  


  


Someone needs to become the new Director, now that the old one is dead. There is no better option than Smile; for he has set himself up in the Director's office and will not come out; he is reading the Director's old tomes and his journals, set in a spindly hand, and learning how to make use of his mesmerism and his drugs.

The police find their way here eventually, of course. They see Ciel, staring blankly into space, upon a bench on the grounds on a dappled afternoon, and think their work complete; but they do not hang him, as he is so obviously of unsound mind. So he stays in the asylum, locked in a moment of disbelief that will not end.

Smile wears top hats, now, and glasses tinted jet, and has let his nails grow long enough to scratch through all defenses: and everyone notes how he is always followed around by that strange patient of his, the one he seems so very fond of, dressed in black with a collar round his neck.

_The End_

  


  


  


  


  


**Author's Note:**

> I took part in this event along with Alastair, AsgardianHobbit98, Babyvfan, Bewdofchaos, Brenna76, Caldera Valhallis, Count Morningstar, CrimsonRaine8, DancesWithSeatbelts, DemonOfTheFridge, DemonShippingQueen, Desna, Drawingdownthemoon, Elleurs, Ferith12, FreyjaBee, HisagiKirigakure, HoshisamaValmor, Iceburg-sanCPX, Jadeile, Kakashi97, Kamil the Awesome, Karkatsbabe, Kittyface27, KurohimeHaruko, Max333, Nazaki-Sama, NekoPantera, Nissa Fox, PhantomGypsy13, Phoenixreal, Potashiamu, RayeMoon, Rhearenee, Sailor Silver Ladybug, SensiblyTainted, .585, SereneCalamity, SesshomaruFreak, Seth's Kiss, Shnuggletea, Sigan, Silirt, Silverstar, Spunky0ne, Starfire93, Tartarun, The Token, TheBadIdeaBears, TsukikoUchu, WhatIDesireEternally, Wrath of Vajra, Xache, Yatsu Narurasuke, & Yemi Hikari... feel free to take a look at their Halloween oneshots as well! :)
> 
> ships: sebaciel, sebastial/ciel/sieglinde, undertaker/real ciel


End file.
